a photo shoot

Well technically it was a Labor Day cookout with family and friends. But I never have pictures of me. I'm always behind the camera. Or on the rare occasion that Lovey picks up the camera, I quickly decide that the pics are horrible and delete them. And there are very few pics of me.

So today while we were sitting outside enjoying a beautiful day, I handed him the camera and let him click away. With just a little coaching.

The back lighting on this one was bad. He took several; this was the only one I could lighten enough to work.

It was a very blustery day. Not good for hair, but I'm not deleting.

This is my favorite. If I was really good with photoshop, I would give me a new background.

He was being a goofball. Wish the glasses weren't screwing with the hair. But not deleting.

If I was good with photoshop...I would do a full body lipo of this pic.

Not too good - not too bad.

Late in the day, my friend Carrie took this one. She was clicking away with her camera and noticed the light was doing that wonderful thing that it does in the late evening. So she grabbed my camera and shot a few of me.

And the light WAS just right.

Why do we find it so hard to look at pictures of us? I think moms are usually guilty of this. One day our kids will look through the pictures and wonder where the mom pics are.  Now my kids will wonder why I only wore this shirt.

Isn't it time for you to have a photo shoot?

A disclosure statement:

When Lovey was being such a goofball, here's the picture he was taking. He didn't chop my head off by accident, that was purposeful framing.

See why I delete most of his pictures? Goofball.

a sunday tradition

When I was growing up, we ate most Sunday lunches at my grandma's. She only lived about a mile away, and we saw her almost every day. I have lots of aunts and uncles and bunches and bunches of cousins. And sometimes they were all there. But sometimes it was a small group. Ten or fifty, we ate good and visited for a while before going home.

Now, our Sunday lunches are at my momma's. And we might not make it to fifty, but there are usually at least ten of us.

Momma always worries about what to cook.

I think she's cleaning one of my messes.

But the food doesn't matter (well not much), we come for the company.

And recently we come to get some baby loving.



We do eat. So much that on Sunday nights, I don't cook. Most Sunday nights we don't eat anything at all.

 Sometimes someone will find leftovers or maybe a bowl of cereal.

But today, Momma wasn't home to cook lunch.

I didn't cook lunch. And because we are trained,

I didn't cook supper either. I don't want to mess up a good thing.